That Which Marks Us
by Pardon the Insanity
Summary: It was an infinite moment before Ulquiorra realized that he was there, complete, that the flame that surrounded him now was just a glowing light pressed against his closed eyelids. Post chapter 354


Well... this is super old, but for whatever reason I didn't post it before. Thus, I am remedying the situation now while I should be doing homework. XD Anyway, the prompt for this came from Rusky-Boz/Yuria and I obliged because it sounded like a good challenge for me. Goodness, it's hard to talk about that without giving everything away in a sentence. So, to get to the point, I hope you will enjoy it! :)

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_Warmth_.

That was it. No sight, no sound, no smell, no taste. There was just that one _sensation_, fluttering somewhere at the edge of existence, weak and distant and hesitant. It slowly reached further into the darkness, stretching out like bright fingers across the nothingness so that he suddenly found that he was aware.

And so he felt the heat rise up as things were drawn together again. It was the burning of a fire, a furnace – _the sun_ – that melded everything, reformed it into flesh and bone. It was an infinite moment before Ulquiorra realized that he was there, complete, that the flame that surrounded him now was just a glowing light pressed against his closed eyelids. He felt the air within his lungs as he inhaled, exhaled; he felt the hard stone pressed against his back, his arms, his legs, and the softness beneath his head.

A thread of confusion was woven through all his disjointed thoughts. Something, everything, about the situation was wrong, but he could not tell why. Cautiously, as he felt his strength returning, he opened his eyes and was assaulted with a flood of color, gold and auburn and peach. _Even the colors are warm_. The impression gradually melted into an image, and with it he found every memory of those last minutes rekindled.

The woman's hair formed a curtain over where his head lay on her lap; it was a feeble barrier to the overwhelming brightness of the shield around them, lit like flame in the light of her power. He stared up at her face, the glittering tear tracks that ran down from her closed eyes, the lines of concentration and sorrow etched across her forehead, the paleness of her cheeks and full lips, and could not stop from noticing, as though it were the first time he had truly seen her, that she was beautiful.

He parted his lips to speak, but could find no words, caught in the swelling of some foreign emotion within his chest. It ached, but it did not come with the unpleasant chill that he had grown so accustomed to. It was almost reflexive that he slowly drew his hand to his sternum, up to where his hollow hole had been carved.

And found nothing.

It was not the nothing he had expected. Flesh now covered the expanse, smooth and seamless with the skin around it, as though it had always been that way. His fingers lingered there above the quickening pulse of his heart.

But his movement had caught the woman's attention. Her eyes opened slowly, the shadowed gray filling with emotions that seemed to reflect his own. He heard her draw a shuddery breath, her gaze darting over his form before returning to his eyes. For a moment everything was balanced, waiting, and then her hand rose up. It hovered in the air next to his face before being pressed to his skin, her fingers curling softly against his cheek.

"Ulquiorra?" she breathed, as though any greater volume would be enough to shatter him, would be enough to return him to the ashes he had been moments before.

He watched her, unable to think of what to say against the new heat her hand was pressing into his skin. He continued to meet her gaze, observing the tears that were forming in her eyes, the way the corners of her mouth slowly, slowly, pulled back in a smile.

She was smiling at him.

"It's gone," he said suddenly.

There was no surprise in her reaction; the tears merely slipped down her cheeks as she smiled wider, glancing at where his hand still rested. "I know. I know."

"Did you–"

"No," she replied instantly, shaking her head so that the long strands of her hair brushed against his skin. "I didn't even think to… it just happened. I don't know why. This, too." Her hand slid up, threading gently into the hair on the left side of his head where the remnants of his mask had been.

It was gradual, but the situation was overwhelming him: what had happened, what he had realized, what she had done. It flooded him with questions, uncertainties, _emotions_, and he felt cornered by the unavoidable advance of things that had been so foreign to him. A part of him wished to lash out, threatened and confused by the unfamiliarity of these feelings, but he could find neither the energy nor the will to do so.

Because there was a warmth, frail and tremulous though it was, within his own chest. _A heart_. That was what he had wanted to understand, a piece of knowledge that he had desired to know long before she had been able to reveal a name for it. And now she had not only given him that, filled the space that had been empty for so long, but she had given him the chance to use it. She had given him a heart and life. She had given him everything.

Her fingers were still running through his hair, the motion slow and gentle, calming the frantic swell of thoughts that had assaulted him. He could never remember a time when a touch had not been meant to harm, and that simple caress, so careful, so tender, was distracting in its novelty. Ulquiorra continued to look up at her as she silently met his gaze and realized that, for the first time, he felt content.

Yet he could not understand, could not see why she would do something so drastic and taboo as bringing him back. _If she was not truly considered a traitor before, no doubt she would be now._ "Why?"

He could think of nothing else to say. There were too many questions to ask of her, too many things he needed to know, and they were all so interconnected that it was impossible to separate them. But there was no touch of confusion upon her features; it was like she had anticipated the question and understood the depth behind that one word long before he spoke it. Her hand paused in its motions and settled against his face. "Because my heart told me to."

There was a spark of surprise that ran through him at her words, yet at the same time he realized that there could have been no other answer. The woman was ruled by her heart; what other motivation did she need or have?

He closed his eyes slowly. "I see."

For a long moment, they remained that way in the silence, and the quiet was neither heavy nor awkward. Vaguely Ulquiorra wondered where her nakama had gone, why he could not sense their reiatsu in the area, but the lulling touch of her fingers swept the query from his mind. All the same, it did not drive out the other consideration that lingered on the edge of his thoughts. "Orihime," he said quietly.

Her fingers stilled, and he opened his eyes to look up into her shocked ones. In the pause he raised his hand to hers, grasping the motionless fingers with excessive gentleness, as though he feared the risk of harming her. She did not resist as he brought her hand to his chest, pressing it over the tattoo that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

"Erase it."

He watched the surprise flicker across her features, her eyes darting down to the mark that was covered with her hand. She shifted, a finger gently sweeping back and forth across the slightly upraised skin, and he observed every shift in her expression, how almost every thought and realization was clearly displayed upon her face.

"Are you sure?" she asked, and he knew the questions that lay behind her words, even if she would not openly speak them.

"Yes. There is nothing to tie me here now."

The glow of her fairies – which had completely dissipated at some point; he had been too distracted to notice – again appeared. The shield was small this time, just enough to cover the mark of his rank, but he basked in the heat it provided. It only required a moment before the light faded, taking the warmth away as well.

Her fingers, which had lingered over her shield, returned to his chest. It was unexpected, the way she drew patterns against his skin, making him pause before looking down. The gothic four that had been there was gone, but the flesh was not unmarked. He watched the path of her index finger as it traced around the curves of the flower that was printed above where his heart lay.

"Now nothing connects you to Aizen." The sound of her voice reached through Ulquiorra's surprise, and he turned his eyes to meet hers. The gray shown silver in the moonlight caught upon the lingering tears even as she smiled softly at him. "But I don't want you to forget that we are still connected."

He glanced back down at the new tattoo, so strange looking in comparison to what he had grown accustomed to. He let her words sink in slowly, and he gradually understood the implications of her choice in this, the reasons why she had decided to make her feelings so unavoidably clear.

And while he could not understand the tightness in his chest that this realization caused, he nonetheless accepted it. Slowly, he moved his hand from where it had rested across his stomach up to where hers still absently followed the lines of the six petals. He threaded their fingers together, surprised with every second that she allowed their hands to remain like that, and then closed his eyes when he realized she would not pull away.

"I won't."


End file.
